Hollow Fang

The sun had barely risen above the rooftops of Kobe's residential district. Pale morning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the quiet street. Birds chirped lazily, fluttering above sagging power lines as elderly women carried fresh groceries in woven baskets, and children chased each other in cheerful bursts of laughter.

It was a fleeting moment of peace.

Then chaos struck.

A guttural scream pierced the morning air. The sound shattered the calm like glass, sending people scattering in every direction. Groceries fell, coins clattered across the stone pavement. A group of armed figures emerged from the alleyways—faces twisted with greed, blades already slick with menace.

"Drop all your belongings now! Cash, jewelry, food — everything!"One of the men barked, his voice coarse with cruelty.

Another stepped forward, his grin wide and mocking."Or you'll end up dead meat!"

Panic surged through the crowd. A mother clutched her daughter tightly, shielding her trembling form behind her own body.

"Please… we have nothing but a thousand yen… I'm begging you, spare us—"Her voice cracked, raw with desperation.

A flash of steel answered her plea. The blade swung cleanly—mercilessly.

SHLICK.

Her head rolled. The little girl's eyes froze in horror just before she too was silenced by a swift stroke. Blood painted the stones beneath their feet.

The slaughter began.

No compassion. No hesitation. Just the cold, calculated execution of any who dared resist… or had nothing to offer.

Screams rose again—brief, desperate cries that died almost as quickly as the people who uttered them. A young girl stumbled, crying out—

"Kyaa—!"

The sound was snuffed in an instant. Another body collapsed in a growing pool of crimson.

But then…

A wind stirred.

Footsteps echoed down the blood-soaked street—measured, deliberate. Something unseen pressed on the atmosphere, a presence colder than the morning air.

A voice broke the silence.

"Stop all that right now."

The assassins turned. At the end of the street stood a figure — tall, cloaked, partly veiled in the drifting shadow. His high-collared cloak fluttered with each step, black with crimson linings, its design akin to a ghost from an old war. White hair, streaked with strands of black, fell over one eye. His face was unreadable — eyes dulled of light, void of emotion.

One of the thugs scoffed, unaware of the judgment now upon him.

"Who the fuck is that piece of shit who has the guts to—"

He never finished his sentence.

The figure vanished—simply disappeared from view.

BOOOOOOM.

A shockwave tore through the street as the first assassin's body flew like a ragdoll, crashing through three buildings before slamming into rubble with a bone-cracking crunch.

"You piece of shit," the stranger muttered, voice sharp as ice."Leave this town."

The others staggered in shock.

"Morphic Claw!"One of them roared in fury, slashing the air violently. Invisible claw waves surged forward, shredding walls and tearing wind asunder.

But the cloaked figure didn't flinch.

"Gravitational Manipulation."

An unseen force snapped the assassin forward — dragging him midair like a rag puppet. Screaming, he collided with the cloaked man.

Daggers flashed.

A deafening crack echoed as both blades sank deep into the assassin's chest. Elemental energy detonated outward from the strike point, flaring violently across the air.

KRAKOOOM.

The body went limp, dropping lifelessly to the floor.

"Those who are corrupted… shall die by my wrath."

The others fled, terror carved into their expressions.

"W-We're out of here!! That thing's not human!"One of them shouted before vanishing into the shadows.

As silence settled again, civilians peeked out from shattered windows and alleyways. Among them, an elderly man fell to his knees, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Thank you… whoever you are…"

The stranger didn't respond. He simply turned his head slightly — just for a moment, a faint smile teased the edge of his lips. Barely visible. Fleeting.

Then he disappeared again, melting into the shadows.

In a city drowned by bloodshed and corruption, a new predator had emerged. Not a hero. Not a savior.

Something else entirely.

The Hollow Fang.

A cold wind swept through the alley, carrying the scent of blood and burning ash. The streets were empty, save for the distant hum of sirens that faded into the night. Neon lights flickered, their glow barely cutting through the mist.

Kuragiri walked alone, his long coat swaying with each step. Droplets of crimson dripped from the twin daggers in his hands, leaving faint trails in his wake.

"After the Genesis Core incident… everything changed," he thought, his grip tightening around the hilts.

A flash of memory burned into his mind.

The explosion. The overwhelming force. His body engulfed in a spiral of chaotic energy, his very essence warping beneath its pressure. His bones twisted and shattered, reshaping themselves with agonizing force. He remembered the way his flesh burned—how he screamed until his voice was lost in the roaring destruction.

"I received something… unnatural. Something far beyond the comprehension of those who walk this world."

The image shifted. A waterfall. Cold water crashing down over jagged rocks. Kuragiri knelt beneath it, his bare skin marred with scars. His once-bright eyes had dulled, empty and cold as he meditated beneath the relentless force.

"I spent what felt like a month trying to understand this… power."

But a month had turned into something longer. Seasons had blurred. He had wandered through desolate lands, training alone in ruined temples, on barren mountain peaks, and in the deepest caves where not even light could reach.

"But a month… turned into a year."

His fists had bled from striking stone, his body breaking and healing, breaking and healing. Again. And again.

Yet, it wasn't enough.

"Not that I even fully grasp it yet… Not even close."

The frustration boiled beneath his skin. He could still hear his own screams in the back of his mind—his raw voice echoing through the wilderness as he pushed himself beyond the limits of human endurance.

"I trained… trained over and over… and over… and trained again… over… and OVER!"

The memories came in violent flashes.

Kuragiri slicing through boulders with energy-coated daggers.Manipulating gravity, crushing trees under its force.Floating midair, carving through wind like a specter.Condensing raw void energy in his palm, feeling the power tremble beneath his fingertips.

And then—his body giving out. Knees hitting dirt. His breath ragged. His muscles screaming in protest.

"My body ached like it was rejecting the power… like it wanted to tear itself apart from the inside out."

His fingers had trembled, veins pulsing with energy just beneath his skin.

"But pain… is the greatest teacher. Suffering… is my only companion now."

He exhaled, his breath forming a mist in the cold night air. Stepping out of the alley, he looked up at the sky. The moon hung low, pale and distant. His silver eyes reflected its light, cold and unreadable.

A lone tree stood atop a small hill just outside the city. Kuragiri sat beneath its shade, chewing on a plain rice ball. The distant hum of the city below felt almost foreign—voices rising in laughter, street vendors calling out, children running through the streets without fear.

"Living without fear… I almost forgot what that felt like."

The thought was distant, empty.

A breeze swept through the grass. Kuragiri stood, dusting off his coat before turning away from the peaceful scene.

A massive concrete wall stood at the city's edge, covered in bounty posters and old, tattered quest papers. Mercenaries and bounty hunters gathered, scanning the newest contracts with murmured discussions.

Kuragiri stepped forward, eyes drifting over the wall.

One paper stood out—freshly posted.

"ASSASSINATE THE SON OF THE DRAGON: KAIDA (S-RANK)Leader of the Dragon Kings Assassins — notorious for widespread civilian terror in Kobe."

His lip curled.

"Tch… load of crap," he muttered. "Like the bastards posting this aren't the same kind of scum. Terrorists disguised as bounty hunters… feeding off innocent blood."

His fingers crushed the corner of the bounty notice.

"Fuckers."

Without another word, he turned and vanished.

A narrow alley, dimly lit by flickering street lamps. Blood pooled in the cracks between the tiles. Bodies lay scattered, motionless.

Kuragiri stepped through the carnage, the tattered remains of his cloak dragging behind him. His daggers dripped crimson, his hands steady.

A faint, choked gasp broke the silence.

"P-please… mercy…"

Kuragiri didn't hesitate. His blade flashed once. Silence.

A steel door burst open with a crash.

Kaida stood in the doorway, his wild hair clinging to his forehead. Frost-blue tattoos shimmered across his muscular arms, pulsing with power. His expression twisted with fury.

"You bastard!" he roared. "You dare slaughter my men?!"

Kuragiri met his rage with an empty stare. "Are those your last words?"

Kaida's eyes burned with hatred. His hands shot forward, his voice echoing through the alley.

"Ice Manipulation: Ice Meteor Rush!"

The ground froze instantly. A hailstorm of jagged ice meteors materialized in the air, streaking toward Kuragiri with deadly speed.

Kuragiri slid one of his daggers back into his spatial sheath.

A flame flickered to life in his palm. One of his eyes ignited—a swirling vortex of fire.

"Fire Manipulation: Inferno Fist."

He moved effortlessly between the falling ice, dodging with calculated precision. Each meteor that came too close was shattered with a single fiery punch.

The last meteor exploded in a spray of frost and embers.

Kuragiri didn't stop moving.

"Morphic Transformation: Jubatus Limb."

The moment the words left his lips, he was gone.

A sonic boom cracked the air.

Kaida's pupils dilated—his body frozen mid-motion as a single, clean slash traced across his throat.

A heartbeat later, his head hit the ground.

Rain began to fall.

Kuragiri stood still, his breath slow and steady. His daggers gleamed under the dim city lights, washed clean by the storm.

He lifted his gaze to the sky.

"But the true mission… was never Kaida."

A torn piece of parchment fluttered from Kaida's robes, landing softly in a puddle. The ink, now wet, smeared across its surface—except for one name.